


Good Things Come In Threes

by theclaravoyant



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, D/s, F/F, F/M, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Multi, Oral, Polyamory, Soft BDSM, Threesome, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 00:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14461179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclaravoyant/pseuds/theclaravoyant
Summary: Daisy isn’t quite sure what to expect, to be honest.-FitzSimmons have an established, soft D/s dynamic that they play around with on occasion. Daisy is curious, and ends up getting herself invited to join the fun. Shenanigans ensue. (Naked, M/E rated shenanigans).for those who are familiar; fits with Gentleman and a Scholar, and Spice of Life.





	Good Things Come In Threes

**Author's Note:**

> For two prompts for "FitzSkimmons + Dom!Fitz", one from a G&S reader and one from a Spice of Life reader. As such, this fic sits in the intersection between [A Gentleman and a Scholar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11476443/chapters/25735023) (FS soft bdsm) and [Spice of Life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11139615/chapters/24854529) (FSK smut). I was going to cross-post it to both, but then it got longer than I expected, and so I decided it warranted its own posting.
> 
> I accept prompts smutty and otherwise (though I will be posting them in whichever universe they best fit, which may be this fic, or either of the above) but I reserve the right to decline prompts. [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ApplePie_BananaMilkshakes/profile#faq) are some guidelines if you're interested. They are a little flexible, but please be respectful. Thanks, and enjoy!

Daisy isn’t quite sure what to expect, to be honest. Given the situation, she’s not entirely surprised by this, but still; it feels more than a little weird to be waiting in the lobby of this fancy hotel for the sexual advances of her two best friends. 

As per her best approximation of tonight’s dress standard, Daisy is wearing a black cocktail dress, which is quite classy if she does say so herself, and carrying her coat because it’s cold outside but it’s warm in here and she does know how to display her assets. She may not have a lot to work with in the bustular region but it brushes up nicely, and she knows for a fact FitzSimmons both have a bit of an Ops fetish, so her shoulders and biceps are likely to work well in her favour. Despite the layers though, all Daisy can think about his her underwear. It’s dark, almost navy blue, matching, and a little lacy – not quite lingerie, at least not what she thought of for this kind of thing, but it was the best she could come up with from her closet. This is only a trial run, after all, and she has quite a limited budget. 

“Can I help you, ma’am?” asks one of the staff. 

“Oh, no thank you,” Daisy replies. “I’m waiting for someone.” 

She’s been asked a few times now, by a smattering of staff, and it’s getting harder and harder not to blush when she replies. The more she thinks about it – why she’s here, what she’s waiting for, the thrillingly lascivious expression on Jemma’s face when she’d told her what to wear - the more naked she feels. She might as well be standing there in nothing at all. By now, she’s on her second mimosa alone in the lobby and the mood of the evening is walking an increasingly thin line between exhilarating and terrifying but before it can topple to one side or the other, Daisy’s phone buzzes.

_Come up now. Room 105._

Daisy clears her throat, slips the half-drunk glass onto the nearest flat surface and moves to the elevators. It feels a little like everybody knows exactly what is going on, although only a few people glance at her as she passes by. A smile creeps onto her face as the elevator climbs and she steps out onto the first, lavishly decorated floor. Exhilaration is definitely winning. 

She knocks on the door to Room 105 and Jemma answers. She’s wearing a dress of style similar to Daisy’s, but pink, and she has no jacket or robe to cover the way it hugs her figure. She smiles and invites Daisy in, and takes her coat while Daisy stares. The room is breathtaking. It’s big, and luxurious, and decorated in dark, powerful statement colours and lines that the good old-fashioned cardigan-wearing cottage-loving FitzSimmons would never choose for themselves. It makes an odd sort of sense though, Daisy supposes: bolder colours for bolder lives, helping them step a little further out of their daily routines than they usually would. 

Fitz is waiting by the drink cart, further in the room, in a sharp black suit. Anyone else might have assumed he and Jemma were here for some sort of conference – but of course, not so. He waves a decanter in Daisy’s direction. 

“Scotch?” 

“Not for me, thanks.” 

Returning the decanter, he gestures for her to take a seat and then joins her, in the two armchairs by the window. From where she sits, Daisy can see the bed over his shoulder. For a second, she can even feel its shiny grey sheets brush against her skin. She shivers with desire, with anticipation, and Fitz smiles. 

“So,” he begins. “Jemma tells me you’re curious about… how this all works.”

He gestures around the room, and Daisy can’t help but smile. She hadn’t been expecting him to carry the role off so well, but his gentle confidence is effective. He seems like a Dom who takes care of his charges, takes pride and enjoyment in doing so, and she would expect nothing less. Still, it’s comforting. It’s like she can see the same old Fitz, through a different lens. 

“I’m well aware of the technicalities,” Daisy points out to him. “In fact, I’ve done things I _know_ you wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, F—I mean, Sir.” 

He nods. 

“Jemma is somewhat… more flexible than I am,” he tells her, and waves Jemma over from where she has been waiting. “And you are our guest. Would you like the two of you to have the night to yourselves? I don’t mind. I can even make myself scarce, if you’d prefer.” 

For a moment, Daisy doesn’t answer. She’s too distracted by the way Jemma has found herself a place by Fitz’s chair, sitting contentedly before him and smiling warmly at Daisy as, from behind, Fitz gently strokes her hair. It’s a little possessive, but soft somehow too, and Daisy feels a yearning for the same flush across her skin. 

“A-Actually no, thank you,” she manages at last. “Turns out one of the things I was… curious about, was um. You.”

“Really?” 

“Yes.” 

Fitz seems genuinely surprised, and Daisy can’t help but be a little endeared. He must be familiar, by now, with seeing himself as a sexual entity but it’s still nice to be flattered. Reaching further, with a salacious smirk, she strokes his ego. 

“Jemma tells me you’re quite good at this. I guess I just had to see for myself. _Sir.”_

“I have to admit,” he returned in kind, “I was hesitant when Jemma first brought up the idea, but I have… shall we say, more than a little curiosity of my own.”

He takes a sheet of paper and a pen from the nearby end table and passes them over to her. Unsurprisingly, it’s a list of various sexual words, deeds, and positions typical of this kind of arrangement. Daisy marks the boxes – yes, no, maybe – as she pleases, without waiting for invitation, and FitzSimmons glance at each other: Daisy’s forwardness puts a spark in the air, as there is no longer any question of this going ahead. It’s all a matter of who and what, where and how. 

Fitz takes the list back from Daisy, and his eyes widen a little. 

“I warned you,” Daisy teases, “and if, as you say, Jemma is more flexible than you are, I’d be happy to try some of those things alone with her. But of course, you can watch if you like.” 

She catches Jemma’s eye for a second; it’s still lower than her own, and there’s something about the way she’s sitting and the way her lips are parted and the anticipation in the air that makes Daisy wonder how she would respond to Daisy’s lips on her neck; Daisy’s fingers between her legs; Daisy whispering what a sweet little slut she is while she begs to be fucked until she screams. They don’t use words like _slut_ around here, she’s already been informed, but Daisy’s almost certain that’s mostly Fitz’s preference. Jemma, she has a feeling, would be willing to at least give it the old college try. 

Then Fitz clears his throat. “Jemma, will you get the toys, please?”

Daisy feels like fanning herself when Jemma’s eye contact with her own finally, as demurely as humanly possible, breaks. Her cheeks feel flushed, despite Jemma’s perfectly calm movements over toward the bed. Fitz gestures for Daisy to follow, and though she feels so jelly-legged already that she considers herself lucky to be standing, she trails obediently over to where, like a patient high-class jeweler, Jemma is setting up a display of what they’ve brought. There’s nothing too extreme by Daisy’s standards, and she’s not sure how much influence she’s going to get in the matter of what they choose, but nevertheless, she peruses the options with interest: handcuffs, satin ties, two vibrators, two dildos, a ball gag, and a spreader bar. 

“Jemma likes that one,” Fitz tells her, all but whispering in her ear, and Daisy bites her lip and whispers back: 

“I do too.” 

This catches on something in Fitz’s imagination. His eyes drop down to her legs, and a little higher, as if he’s wondering – calculating – exactly what he might be able to get away with. It’s Jemma that pulls his attention back to the task at hand, clearing her throat gently and gesturing to the array before them. 

“These are some of our favourites,” she explains, mostly for Daisy’s sake. “We brought a little extra for you, of course, but we don’t have much worked out as regards what to use. Do you have a preference?” 

Daisy shrugs – a flick of her hair, casual and alluring. “Let’s see where the night takes us. Unless –“ 

She looks to Fitz, and he seems content with her decision. He shakes his head, waving the options away, and his eyes lock onto Daisy’s with a smooth sort of confidence that has somehow already wrapped around her and seems to be holding her in place. In a voice with very much the same effect, he says: 

“No. Let’s just start with you.” 

He begins casually to take off his jacket. He discards it over the drink cart, out of the way, and Daisy watches him begin a slow, perusing circle of her. She feels the status shift in those precious few seconds and yet, she has no desire to reach out and stop it, or even to turn with him. She lets him regard her from all angles; there aren’t any bad ones, after all. The game is simply leveling up. This is what she came for, and her body is only too happy to submit to the way Fitz’s infamous eyes curiously, hungrily drink her in. She feels warm, and intensely loved – and desired – and like she did not truly know what Jemma has been describing all this time; not until this moment. 

Jemma watches her with a knowing smile. Her eyes sparkle as if to say; _good, isn’t it?,_ and, _you haven’t seen anything yet._  

“Now, Daisy,” Fitz proposes. “Jemma never told me what kind of a role you prefer when it comes to these sorts of things.” 

“I’m a switch, I’m good with either,” Daisy explains, her eyes sparkling back at Jemma as she recalls the first conversation about this they’d finally had. It doesn’t seem nearly so embarrassing now. “But I did ask Jemma to bring me here to experience you, so tonight I’m happy with whatever you’d like.” 

Fitz gestures to Jemma and the bed and the toys. 

“Are you sure? You are our guest after all,” he reminds her. “I only want to be a gracious host.”

“I’m sure you are, Sir,” Daisy replies, and this time manages it almost entirely without mocking. “That’s why, as I said, I’m happy with _whatever you like.”_

Fitz’s breath catches, audibly, at her purring tone and her meaning and all the possibilities it entails. She has put her power in his hands and that is no small thing at the best of times, let alone a first time, and with somebody unquestionably more experienced than himself. He wonders what to do with all this power; after all, how many chances for this will there be? How will this performance affect that number? How can he be adventurous enough for all their expectations, yet sure enough in their outstanding pleasure? How can he thrill and excite, and yet at the same time, treasure and cherish this unique moment, this unique bond? 

He takes a deep breath. “Well, in that case…”

It’s only natural, in the end, that he decides to push ahead with only the aid of those things which have served him best in all his past exploits: his fingers. He takes Daisy’s hands, and then brushes up her arms, feeling the way her muscles twitch and shiver in his wake. 

“Turn for me,” he requests, and she does, until he stops her with a touch. A hand on her hip. There is a moment’s hesitation and Daisy swears he must be able to hear her heartbeat – to feel it through her skin – as he drags the zip slowly downward and pulls the dress away. He gasps. 

“Oh, Jemma. Have you ever seen anything like her?”

Jemma doesn’t reply, but the awe and wonder and desire is clear on her face; not fading even when Fitz beckons her over and unzips her dress too. Speechless, Daisy’s eyes grow wide and she stammers an incomplete, wordless compliment. 

“Don’t be nervous,” Jemma says, as if she’s completely unfazed by standing in front of the both of them in a shade of petal-pink apparently picked out by Aphrodite herself. “You’re beautiful.” 

Fortunately, Daisy figures, if she is nervous she can hardly feel it: she’s still reeling from the fact that a man who gets to look at _that_ every other day can still somehow be so struck by her. And while she’s busy admiring Jemma, she feels Fitz’s fingers on her back; over her shoulders, over her scars, down her spine he wanders, and she shivers. Jemma beams, as if biting back a laugh. 

“It’s alright,” she promises. “I told you he’s got wandering hands, remember? Don’t worry, though. I think you’ll find them _quite_ to your liking.” 

She bites her lip, reminding Daisy that she very much means the British interpretation of ‘quite’, meaning something in the vicinity of ‘very extremely much’. Before Daisy can reply, however, that she has no doubt, the words are chased from her mind by a powerful tingling through her torso. Fitz’s hands have wandered over her hips to stroke the sensitive skin of her belly, and when she lets him pull her backward, she can feel the stiffness through his pants. 

“Like what you see?” she teases. 

“Oh, yes, very much,” Fitz declares, nuzzling at her neck as if he can’t quite settle on the perfect place to kiss. It’s soft, but possessive, just like before and Daisy feels a chill run through to her core as his finger strokes one of her bra straps, thoughtfully. “This colour is quite fetching on you. I should very much like to take it off. In fact – Jemma, will you clear the bed please?” 

Jemma has a bounce in her step as she scoops the toys back into their suitcase and sets it aside, almost as excited as they are to see what Fitz has planned for Daisy. At his beckoning, Daisy springs forward and pops the clasp on her bra, letting it fly away before she takes her position. If Fitz had been hoping to take care of that himself, he doesn’t seem too sore about it as he climbs onto the bed to kneel between her parted legs and admire her from a whole new angle. Though he never quite makes it all the way back to her face, Daisy smiles appreciatively: a long time ago, Jemma had confided in her that Fitz was very much a boob man, but it is immensely satisfying to watch how it all plays out. His expression loses a good deal of its decorum, and he waves to Jemma with a rapt expression on his face. 

“Get the ties, please,” he orders. “I’ve a feeling our guest is going to get one or the other of us into some trouble without them.” 

Daisy grins. She feels oddly proud of him for playing the game so well – and of course, she has always had a knack for causing trouble. She’s especially tempted when Jemma’s breast comes into dangerous proximity of her hands and face. Never, she’s sure, has she been so tempted to take something that is not hers. But when she tries, Jemma bats her hand and ties it down above her head, clicking her tongue. 

“Cheeky,” she scolds. 

“You know it.” Daisy winks at Jemma as she moves aside, and then sets her sights back on Fitz, with a bit of a dare in her eyes. “My safe word is peanuts.”

This, he takes as permission to continue. He starts with a kiss on her shoulder, far more forceful and energizing than the gentle nuzzling from before, but no less admiring. With a power and grace she should have come to expect by now, he moves inward, across her collarbone and down, setting her nerves alight and her toes to curling. The end of his tie tickles her belly and groin as he plays with her breasts and Daisy groans shamelessly and writhes in pleasure and delight. She longs to pull him up, undress him, run her nails down his back – just lightly, at least at first; just to see what he would do. Instead, the best she’s going to get tonight is to cling to the ties and try as best she can to arch her body toward his mouth as Fitz kisses lower – lower – 

Then she has an idea. 

“Jemma?" 

“Hm?” 

“Would you be a dear and take Fitz’s top off for me?” 

Breathless, her voice pitches wildly, but though Fitz pauses at her suggestion he is only too happy to take it on. The look he gives Jemma as she crawls toward him is positively ravenous and their lips lock together with a fierce passion. She removes his tie and he smiles, catching her hand and turning it over as if he’s caught her in the cookie jar. 

“Having fun, are we, baby girl?” 

“Was I not supposed to?” Jemma asks. “You didn’t say.” 

“No, I didn’t,” Fitz muses, “ and you know what? I think I might actually like it. Feel free to get one or two of our little friends, if you think it will help.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” Jemma’s cheeks are flushed red and she smiles coyly. Fitz looks so proud of himself he could burst. 

“My pleasure.” 

Daisy catches the glint of wetness on Jemma’s fingers before Fitz kisses it off and sends her on her way, and feels an overwhelming rush of heat. She stops watching them, her head dropping back to the sheets so that she can only see the roof and the concoctions of her vivid – and vividly aroused - imagination. Jemma was masturbating? To her? To her and Fitz? And now the facts that her own hands are tied above her head and Fitz is no longer touching her become a thousand times more obvious to her touch-starved skin, and she wants to curl up into a ball and scream, she’s wound so tightly. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Fitz promises, brushing a hand against her thigh. “I haven’t forgotten about you. Now, where were we?” 

He tosses his own shirt aside, since Jemma is otherwise occupied, and Daisy gets a glance at his surprisingly defined muscles. Apparently, pushups really are working for him. Still, she’s rapidly losing patience for shameless admiration as her thighs rub themselves vigorously together. Her hips twitch, longing for release but unable to find it without help, and Fitz comes swooping to the rescue. Starting from her knee, he kisses and touches until she yields once again and then, pushing her panties aside, he slips his tongue between her folds. 

“Oh my god-“ she whispers, hoarse. Her body shivers, and everything in the room seems to be vibrating. Maybe it is. She closes her eyes, cherishing the feeling, even as her hips buck beyond her control and her feet grapple to find some sort of grounding on the silky sheets. Her nails dig into the ties and she’s glad for the solidness of the bed and Fitz’s steady, relentless, expert touch. 

Fitz curses, tugging at his belt with a free hand as the pressure becomes almost unbearable. Daisy’s close to cumming now and she mewls desperately, pressing herself against him. He’s not in a much better state, but his hands are too distracted trying to keep Daisy’s knees and her underwear out of the way. He calls for Jemma; a natural instinct, and one as good as any as she’s all too happy to help out. She takes care of his pants and his underwear, and a good deal more than that, matching the fervor with which he strokes at Daisy, with a few strokes of her own. 

 _“Fuck-“_ Daisy chokes, as just one more sends her spinning. She gasps. Her skin feels so much cooler now, though heat is still rising all around her. The spiraling tension has been released and she feels as though her body is adrift on a lake of glorious, glorious pleasure. The sheets are smooth. Her legs are weak. Her arms collapse in their bonds and she beams, a little deliriously.

“Wow,” she breathes. “That was.” 

“A great idea?” Fitz suggests, just as breathless. He wipes her shining arousal from his lips, his whole body almost aching from pleasure. He’s practically collapsed between Daisy’s legs, and Jemma lies beside the both of them looking quite pleased with herself, though her knickers are soaked and the skin of her belly is spattered with his cum. For a long while, the only sound is heavy breathing, and otherwise satisfied silence. Then Daisy speaks.

“Just so you know,” she warns, trying and failing to clench a fist. “If you ever call me sweetheart in real life I _will_ punch you.” 

“And in bed?” 

“Dude, if you make me cum like _that_ you can call me whatever the hell you want.” 

A beat, then Fitz speaks again. 

“Can I make a request?”

“Is it ‘if you ever call me dude while I’m trying to sex you up I’ll punch you’?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Good call. That’s fair.”  
  
Another beat, and Jemma laughs. “I told you this would be fun.”


End file.
